


Du Temps Perdu (Of Lost Time)

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-29
Updated: 2006-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is wasted when we don't listen to our hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Du Temps Perdu (Of Lost Time)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ccwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccwriter/gifts).



> My endlessly patient beta-reader. Thanks, babe.

**_"I think my appetite's come back..."_**

It happened just like Starsky had known it would as soon as he hopped off the back of the cop's motorcycle, looked into Hutch's tense face, and saw the clear concern in his eyes at the near miss.

And sure enough, when they got back to Starsky's apartment, Hutch was on him like white on rice, hands wrenching at his clothing, mouth hard against his neck until, just like always, they were tangled on the couch, naked and pressed together in an insane frenzy of hot, slick motion and grunts and sighs, hips slamming, anxious to spend themselves against each other.

This time Hutch was on top of him, pressing down, using all his weight, and Starsky took it, took all the fury of movement and gave back in hard thrusts, moaning into Hutch's ear as he came. He could feel Hutch gasping, his smooth belly moving against Starsky's cock, which jerked and spurted as his balls throbbed.

He thought maybe he said Hutch's name, because Hutch eased up and pressed his cheek against Starsky's temple. About as close as they came to a kiss. Then Hutch started to move again, but Starsky put two hands on his hips, stopping him. He felt Hutch's momentary puzzlement, but the big guy let him slide out from under.

Starsky wanted to try something different. It was a risk, because there seemed to be an invisible set of rules to their joining, always. Unspoken and only vaguely defined, but necessary to keep it all on the right level.

But he wanted more this time. And since Hutch was taut with hunger, and still shaken in the aftermath of having sent Starsky off with a bomb in the trunk, he figured he could get away with almost anything tonight—at least until Hutch came.

Starsky knelt down beside the couch in the dim light and pushed at Hutch until he was flat on his back, his sweaty hair tangled on his forehead. Starsky could see that Hutch's eyes were open, head cocked questioningly.

Starsky bent his head and started at Hutch's chest, tasting him. He'd never had a chance to do this before. The smooth, flat chest fascinated him—always had. Most of Hutch's bulk was in his arms and thick shoulders and neck, but there was muscled hardness here, too, under Starsky's mouth, and Hutch's skin was warm and salty. Starsky's mouth found a nipple and he started to suck it, enjoying the response, the quickening of Hutch's breath and the soft shiver. The flesh was stiff against Starsky's tongue as he mouthed it repeatedly. A begging note was in the moaned response, but Starsky ignored it, sucking on. He wet his fingers and captured the other nipple to roll and fondle it, and Hutch's hips lifted against air.

"C'mon, c'mon," Hutch begged. He didn't talk at all, usually, and Starsky grinned at the plea, but kept on for a while before moving lower. He encountered the taste of his own come on Hutch's belly and spent a long time lapping it up before dipping down toward Hutch's groin.

But Hutch tensed, grabbing his head and saying, "No."

Starsky fought momentarily against his grasp, and the hands tightened in his hair until he almost yelped.

"No," Hutch said again, and Starsky caught a strange undercurrent in his tone.

"Why not?" Starsky whispered.

But Hutch didn't answer, just pulled him up until Starsky gave in and lay beside him again. Hutch shifted onto his side to give him more room, and took his hand, pulling it down and wrapping it around his cock.

"Finish me," he said, moving Starsky's hand in a tight stroke until he took over, jerking the big cock up and down as he squeezed. Hutch's hips started moving smooth and fast, and he was moaning again, this time with his face mashed against Starsky's neck. Starsky heard him hold his breath, and smiled as he felt Hutch give it up, creaming over his fingers with a deep groan. Starsky milked his cock through the bursts until it softened in his hand and Hutch stopped him.

After a while, Hutch rose and shifted past him to clean up quietly, getting dressed in the near-darkness. Then he left with a soft, "See you tomorrow, buddy."

 _He always leaves right after._ Starsky sighed and went to the bathroom to take a hot shower, his body comfortably lax after his orgasm, the smell of sex rising around him with the steam.

By the time he was clean, he'd pushed away his resentment. It wasn't fair to Hutch, anyway. This is what they'd decided on, in so many words, all those years ago when they first got together this way. This is how it was supposed to go down, so that they could still have what they both wanted: their jobs, and the ever-impossible dream of family. And whatever one of them needed to maintain the status quo, that's what the other guy gave. So if Hutch needed to go, then that was all she wrote.

But in spite of the shower, his partner's scent followed Starsky down into sleep.

ooOoo

 ** _"Promises, promises..."_**

Heat rose in waves from the gray asphalt of the playground, bringing with it the smell of dirt and something oily and rubbery, maybe from the heavy black mats covering the ground beneath the jungle gym like puzzle pieces.

The sweat ran down Starsky's cheek to rest on his upper lip, and his tongue flicked out to remove the irritant. The taste and smell of the place combined to swing his mind back to another sunny day, the asphalt hard beneath his sneakers as he and Hutch led a rowdy gang of kids in a no-rules game of basketball.

He heard a step and turned his head to catch a flash of gold and blue. He should've known that Hutch would track him down somehow. Sonar, maybe, picking up on the painwaves. _Funny how that works_.

Starsky shifted on the hard picnic bench. He'd been sitting too long and his ass was numb, but his heart still wasn't. He kept thinking it should be, already.

It'd been six months. Terry's kids weren't here because it was the weekend, but he found himself wondering if they still remembered her. Or were they like any other kids, forgetting so fast what wasn't around them every day?

Forgetting, just as he had.

Hutch's hand landed on his shoulder like a weight, and he shrugged it off. He heard Hutch make a clicking sound of concern.

"That the way it's gonna be?"

Starsky shrugged again.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, knowing he sounded angry and that Hutch would think it was directed at him, but Starsky didn't have the energy to explain. He was the one who had broken his promise. Such an easy promise, too—to love her, always. He'd made it in his heart while hunched over her cooling hand.

But then, last night, Hutch had moved in on him. For the first time since....

"Where else would you be?" Hutch said.He bent and folded himself onto the bench, one shoulder almost close enough to brush Starsky's. But not quite. A careful inch still separated them.

Starsky didn't respond.

"You're not gonna talk to me, is that it?" Hutch's voice was heavy.

"Whaddaya want me to say?" Too rough.

Hutch shifted, and the gap between them widened. Through the corner of his eye, Starsky saw him draw one hand up his face and then down again quickly, like a wiper blade.

"Something, anyway," Hutch finally answered, his tone blank as his face. "Call me an asshole."

"You're an asshole."

"Try saying it like you mean it," Hutch said grimly. "You weren't exactly...unwilling."

No. He hadn't been. After the initial awkward surprise of his nose bumping against the side of Starsky's face, Hutch's mouth had slid into place, his lips finding their favorite spot just behind the angle of Starsky's jaw, and something in Starsky's chest had eased back into place again, as well. They'd made it as far as the bedroom, hands halfway down each other's pants, when Starsky had seen Ollie sitting on the nightstand by Hutch's bed.

And everything broke.

An echo of laughter mingled with the howl of grief in his mind. So much lost. So much he would never have, would never know. And Hutch didn't get it. He never had.

"It's not like Vanessa," Starsky said. Predictably, he felt Hutch stiffen beside him.

"What the hell does _she_ have to do with this?" So angry.

"Everything. Don't you get it?With Terry I could've had it all...family...kids...."

Hutch jerked and then finally turned toward him. Starsky started to match the movement instinctively, but one glance into the pained blue of Hutch's eyes convinced him of the stupidity of it. Starsky turned away.

"Okay." Hutch said it softly, quietly enough to hide whatever was under it. But Starsky let it go.

It was better that way.

ooOoo

"This is a total washout." Hutch cursed and shoved his yellow pad across the desk. His pen rolled with it and then fell off the side. He bent to retrieve it, his hair falling across his forehead.

 _Needs a haircut_ , Starsky thought idly _._ "Look, I _said_ I would do some of the calling."

"You think you can do any better?These people are all terrified of Callahan," Hutch said, pushing his hand through his hair to get it off his face. "And no big surprise. He owns that neighborhood. And they know it."

The trial was tomorrow, and though they had plenty of evidence, they still had squat according to the DA, who had told them if they couldn't get any witnesses, the guy would probably walk anyway. 'Juries have an unnatural indifference to facts,' was the way he'd put it.

Starsky knew all about juries. He'd been worried about Prudholm's while gathering together the evidence for the case. But it was all for nothing. The judge had declared Prudholm incompetent to stand trial, and the bastard was now sitting cozy in a maximum-security nuthatch.

Maybe Cabrillo State used electroshock. _Now there's a nice thought_.

Starsky turned back to his summary report, typing painstakingly. He was glad for the distraction. Everything could be going to hell in his personal life, but the job was always there. And Hutch.

Those two things had been all that had kept his finger from the trigger both times he'd had Prudholm in his sights. Because he wouldn't have had the job afterward. And he wouldn't have Hutch, even as his friend.

 _But what if Prudholm had killed Hutch?_

The terrifying thing was it could've happened. If Hutch hadn't seen the tripwire on the door. If he'd gone in high like always and taken that shotgun blast right to the chest....

Starsky suppressed a shudder of dread and pushed the thought aside. He looked up to find Hutch staring at him.

"Let's take a break, huh?" So much concern, all directed at him.

To tell the truth, he couldn't take it. It made him feel soft, when he needed to be tough.

Starsky just stared back and then shook his head, going back to his typing.

He heard Hutch sigh, his chair creaking as he leaned forward to pick up the phone again.

ooOoo

 ** _"I also remember..."_**

"You gonna go?" Starsky asked, playing it cool.

"I guess so," Hutch said. The look he gave him was almost apologetic, and at the squad room doors he paused and turned again, as if waiting for permission.

Starsky waved him out.

That night, while Hutch was out with his ex-wife, the wasp queen, Starsky stayed at home with his chinchilla and tried to smother the weird ache in his stomach with a six-pack and rodent conversation.

"She's no good for him—never was, Louise," he told the chirping critter. "Tried to tell him so back when they met, but he was just a goner. She had him wrapped so tight around her finger that when she cut him loose, it was like he didn't know what to do with himself."

Maybe that's what the ache was for. For his young, bewildered idiot of a friend, who'd crashed like a drunken avalanche into his arms one night, sometime after his wife had left him. And Starsky had had to dig him out again, with his hands, with his mouth. The next morning Hutch had said nothing, looking bashful as hell. And grateful.

But now Hutch had gone back to her, limping like the beaten puppy he had been in the awful days after she'd wrecked him. Starsky just didn't get it.

"I just don't get it, Louise. Except...he hasn't really been gaga over anyone since Gillian. I guess maybe he's remembering the good stuff with Vanessa. Not that there could've been much good stuff with that bitch."

He imagined being with Vanessa would be like swimming in the Dead Sea.

Starsky fed Louise some celery stalks and hit the sack.

ooOoo

"Mighty funny," Starsky said, staring down at his guinea pig while Hutch grinned and Dobey hooted it up behind the door of his office. But inside Starsky was beaming. Hutch was in the clear.

Starsky put the lid on Louise's box and grabbed his keys.

"Where you going?" Hutch asked, sounding surprised.

"Shift's over. And I gotta see a man about a rodent," Starsky replied.

"I'll come with you."

Dobey popped his head out of his office again and cleared his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something, Hutchinson?"

Hutch looked puzzled until Dobey held out his hands. In his left he carried the familiar steel of Hutch's Magnum. In his right was Hutch's badge.

Hutch looked sheepish and stripped off his jacket to put on his holster while Starsky just smiled and smiled.

Slipping his badge into his back pocket, Hutch said, "Let's go, partner."

They were in the car, Louise in her box between them on the seat. Starsky was riding high on it—on having his partner back—and on impulse he turned them toward his apartment instead of taking them to the Pits to track down the crumb who'd sold him Louise. Starsky looked over once and got a raised eyebrow, so he knew it was all right.

Hell, everything was all right until they got in the door and were plunked on the couch with two brews. Then Hutch said something stupid.

"Should never have gone to her, huh?"

There was all sorts of grief and guilt and remorse in his voice, but none of it was for the right reason, near as Starsky could tell. It sounded like Hutch was apologizing for getting Vanessa mixed up in _his_ fucked-up life, as if the broad hadn't signed her own death warrant by double-crossing Wheeler.

"No, you shouldn't have," Starsky said shortly.

Hutch looked shocked.

"In fact, I think you were a damned fool not to hang up as soon as you knew it was her."

"Fuck you," Hutch said, without much heat at all.

Starsky lost all caution. "She was bad news and you know it."

Hutch shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. "She's _dead_. Have a little—"

"Good." Starsky said, thinking maybe he was signing his death warrant, because Hutch's lips thinned dangerously. Starsky went on anyway, "I'm glad she's dead. 'Cause you're such a fucking push-over the bitch would've had your dick tied in knots faster than—"

He knew it only as Hutch lunged at him, their bodies meeting in a vicious grind, that that was what he'd been after all along. Starsky smiled. It'd been way, way too long.

This time, when they got to the bedroom, he kept his eyes fixed on his partner, who was rapidly yanking off his clothing, face and chest flushed, blue eyes gleaming.

"Did you fuck her?" Starsky whispered hoarsely as he got out of his jeans in a hurry.

The gleam sharpened, and Hutch shook his head.

"Good." Starsky said. And then he stopped talking.

He was so heated up he wasn't sure what part of Hutch he wanted to touch first. Without conscious thought, he pushed Hutch down onto the bed and took his mouth for the first time. It was only after he did it that he realized what the fuck he was doing.

Hutch's lips were soft with surprise, softer than Starsky had expected. Soft and moving against his. Beyond his initial burst of anger, Hutch was passive, letting Starsky do what he wanted. And what he wanted was Hutch's lips. He crushed them with his own, tasting him, tasting blood, taking a savage satisfaction in kissing Hutch at last, and then he slipped his tongue into Hutch's mouth, and curled his fingers tight in the blond hair, gripping him.

Hutch immediately tried to pull away from the invasion.

 _Oh no you don't._ The resistance fired Starsky's blood, and he heard a roaring in his head as he thrust his cock against Hutch's groin. Finally, he broke the long kiss and shifted downward, sliding his hips between Hutch's legs, feeling Hutch's erection dragging against his belly. Then Starsky dropped his head and bit down on Hutch's right nipple.

Hutch groaned something.

"What was that?" Starsky whispered roughly. He reached down and held himself just under the crown, rubbing the wet, sensitive tip up and down against the smoothness of Hutch's inner thigh.

"I said, I didn't _fuck_ her," Hutch said, his voice hoarse.

But Starsky didn't want to think about that, think about what it meant, why she was _here_ right now. He bit and licked at Hutch's nipple, punishing it, and Hutch thrust up against him a little frantically. Then Starsky knew what he wanted.

He wanted to erase her. He wanted to drive Hutch insane with wanting it from him. He wanted to do things to him that the cold bitch would never do—had never done, if Hutch's obliquely-worded complaints were any indication.

Starsky began a determined journey down Hutch's abdomen, feeling the quick breaths that lifted the taut muscles under his mouth. He lapped at the smooth skin and Hutch made a sound.

When Starsky's head dipped lower, panicked hands grabbed his head, trying to pull him away.

Starsky looked up at him. "You don't want my mouth?" He licked his lips and felt Hutch shudder beneath him.

 _Or maybe you want it too much._ And that was just fine by Starsky. He reached up and pulled Hutch's hands from his head, pressing them down by his sides. Hutch's body tensed in momentary rebellion, and then he relaxed.

 _Good boy,_ Starsky thought approvingly, hoisting himself on his elbows to look down at his prize.

Hutch's cock was blood-thickened and urgently tight against his belly. Starsky stared at it, for a moment completely at a loss, the reality of what he was taking on intruding. _But I want it. And I want him to want it. And I know how to make it good._ He ducked his head to run his tongue from base to crown, and Hutch jerked and moaned.

Starsky chewed at his tongue until spit filled his mouth, and then he took the head in and coated it with wetness, sliding his tongue below and rubbing hard with the flat of it.

"Starsk," Hutch gasped.

 _That's right. Gonna make you say my name in a whole new way, Blondie._ Starsky wrapped his hand around the base of the shaft and began to suck, trying to breathe around the thickness. Hutch began to twitch, and Starsky pulled away long enough to curl his lips around his teeth before sliding back down, his hand moving in counterpoint to his mouth.

"God!" Hutch said, and his fingers dug hard into Starsky's hair.

Starsky kept sucking, enjoying the salty musk of his partner in a way he hadn't anticipated. He felt Hutch's balls move, tightening, and knew he was close.

Starsky sped his rhythm, Hutch's hands catching painfully in his hair. His lips were numb now from the pressure of his teeth, but he kept pumping the thick shaft. Then Hutch stopped breathing, his hips going rigid, and a second later his cock started releasing thick semen into Starsky's mouth.

"Starsk!" Hutch groaned wildly. Starsky eased his movement and let the bitter fluid collect, fighting an urge to gag while the pulsing continued. Then he pulled away as gently as he could and swallowed. He raised his head.

Hutch was staring at the ceiling, his eyes half-closed, his breathing quick and light, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. Starsky knelt between his legs and settled back on his heels, taking himself in hand and stroking slowly. He waited until Hutch looked down at him, then he took one of Hutch's hands and held it to his cock until it curled around him.

Starsky groaned. He could feel his pulse beating in the base, shivering through his shaft. He stared at Hutch, jutting his jaw in a challenge.

Hutch closed his eyes and then moved to the side, a silent offer to change places. Only, when Hutch leaned over him, his back was to Starsky, obstructing his view. He felt the big hand take hold of him once again, giving him a slow, firm stroke. And then the blond head dropped down, and soft lips touched the head of his cock.

 _Oh God. He's doing it._ Starsky wished more than anything that he could see it happening. His guilt over possibly forcing Hutch into this was easily swept away by the pleasure that mouth was giving him, velvet tongue hesitantly sliding over the tip of his cock, then tickling the slit before letting the head slip between those soft lips.

Hutch didn't take much of him, just sucking the crown while his hand expertly stroked the shaft, but it was more than enough to send Starsky flying, knowing that it was Hutch doing this for him, to him. Then Hutch's other hand slipped below to play with his balls before one finger slid even lower to tease his asshole.

Starsky let out a startled shout at the touch and tangled his fingers in the fine gold of Hutch's hair. _So good. Oh God, Hutch's mouth._ He rubbed encouragingly, trying to up the tempo, and Hutch took the cue, sucking harder and jerking faster until Starsky was falling over the edge, sharp pleasure cutting through him.

"Ahhhh...Hutch!" he shouted, and Hutch pulled away, still stroking him as he spilled his come in quick bursts, head swimming, pulse pounding hard.

When it was over, Hutch released him and fell to his back. Starsky lay panting, his whole body still echoing spasms of pleasure.

Eventually, Starsky rolled to the edge of the bed and dropped his feet to the floor. He was uncomfortably sticky all over, from his own come and their combined sweat. He rested his hand on Hutch's thigh momentarily, but Hutch didn't look at him. Starsky saw him lick his lips.

 _I'm in there. My taste is in his mouth._

It was enough for now. Starsky stood and stumbled to his bathroom to wash up. He wet a washcloth and scrubbed himself down, then dried off with a towel. His thoughts were slow and sated, his muscles loose. He wasn't sure how he felt, only that he was somehow satisfied that _something_ had been proven back there on the rumpled sheets.

But when he returned to the bedroom, it was empty.

Nothing had changed at all.

ooOoo

Starsky showed into work early, hoping to drag Hutch out for a cup of coffee before their shift started. But his partner wasn't there. On his desk, Starsky noticed a red-flagged folder, something from IA. One glance confirmed his guess: it was the case file for Vanessa Hutchinson.

 _She kept his damned name, along with everything else he had._

Starsky resisted the impulse to read it, and instead picked at older cases. A teen had been found in MacArthur Park with one shot to the head. Gang violence, probably. The distorted lines of the kid's face in the coroner's shots did nothing to settle Starsky's stomach.

Hutch showed up late, his usually neat hair mussed and tangled. Obviously he'd been ten minutes behind all morning. He grunted a hello, grabbed a cup of squad brew and then slung himself onto his chair. He still hadn't looked at Starsky.

 _So that's how it is._ For now, anyway, Starsky could let it slide.

Hutch picked up the file on his desk. Starsky ducked his head and watched from under his brows as Hutch leafed through the first few pages and the photographs. Then Hutch went still.

He sat that way for too long. Starsky was about to ask him what was up when Hutch closed the folder, dropped it on his desk, and then stood and went to Dobey's office, knocking quietly before entering and closing the door.

 _What the fuck?_

Starsky grabbed up the file and started going through it, trying to locate the page Hutch must've been on. Maybe the coroner's report. But there was nothing there that popped out at him. He already knew how Vanessa had died; a .357 Magnum didn't leave much room for doubt.

He dropped the file guiltily when Hutch came back out. But Hutch didn't seem to notice. His face was pale, tight. "I'm taking the morning," was all he said before grabbing his jacket and walking out of the squad room.

Starsky jumped up and hurried after him, catching up in the stairwell.

"Wait up, damn it," Starsky said, snagging Hutch's sleeve.

Hutch held, but didn't turn.

"Wanna tell me what this is about?" Starsky said quietly.

Hutch shook his head. "Lemme go," he said, his voice grainy.

Starsky swallowed. "Ain't gonna."

The door on the landing opened, and it spurred them both into moving down the stairs. They passed Collins, who gave them an odd look before hurrying by.

On the sidewalk, Starsky kept pace beside Hutch until they reached the LTD. Hutch glared at him over the hood.

"I told you I'm taking the morning off. You, on the other hand, are still on duty, in case you've forgotten."

Starsky shrugged. "I'll radio Dobey on the way."

Hutch gave him a look. "On the way _where_?"

"Wherever we're going," Starsky answered simply, and pulled open the passenger door, hopping in.

Hutch got in beside him, slamming his door with unnecessary force, and sat staring out the front window. Starsky just waited. Finally, Hutch put his keys in the ignition and started up the clunker.

Starsky obtained a patch through to Dobey and got a good lashing from his superior before he shut off the radio. Then he sat silently while Hutch continued to drive, both hands on the wheel.

When they hit Venice, Hutch bypassed his apartment building and took them down to the ocean. This early on a weekday there was hardly anyone around except the usual bums who liked to sleep down there. The sea was jade green today, heavy yellow foam dancing in the breakers.

Hutch got out and started trudging out onto the sand. Starsky followed after, starting to get annoyed by the long silence.

"What is it?What did you see in that file?" he asked abruptly, once he parked his ass beside Hutch on the sand.

"What does it matter?" Hutch said, sounding exhausted and sad. "You never understood—"

"No, I didn't," Starsky cut in. "But I want to." And he did. Now that she was gone, he could hardly resent her anymore. But, more importantly, he wanted _in._ And after last night, he felt weirdly like he had the right.

Only apparently Hutch didn't think so, because he didn't respond.

Fine. Starsky had ways of making his partner talk even when he didn't want to.

"Why did you go to her?" He was going for hurt, but was surprised at how real the feeling was, how raw the pain in his voice.

"Beats me," Hutch said wearily.

"I hated that she could do that, just crook her finger and make you heel." Starsky meant it to sound like a confession, but Hutch twisted his upper body toward him, his face flushed and angry.

"So I'm a trained dog, now, is that it?Or maybe it just steams you that you aren't the only one—" Hutch shut his mouth with a snap and looked away, his jaw working as if the words still wanted out.

 _I'm not the only one who what? Can tell you what to do?_ Starsky took a quick breath then confessed, "Yeah, I was pretty steamed. Even more when I found out you'd...taken her home."

Hutch's face screwed up, and he rested his forehead against the heels of his hands. Starsky was dismayed when he started rocking a little.

"What?" Starsky put a hand in the middle of Hutch's back. For a moment he thought Hutch would pull away, but he didn't. Starsky started moving his hand, trying to soothe.

"I saw it on the coroner's report," Hutch said, his voice a harsh whisper competing with the surf. "No tumor. She told me she was going into the hospital to have tests... I had already left her at the bar, but she followed me out to the car to tell me about it. She begged me to let her come home with me."

"Oh." This was all news to Starsky. The bare bones recitation that Hutch had given him at his kitchen table on that awful morning hadn't included the why.

Starsky moved his hand up Hutch's back to grasp his shoulder and pull him closer, but Hutch leaned forward, breaking the contact.

But he did keep talking, his voice hoarse. "She was lying to me again. All along, I guess. And I knew it, I fucking _knew_ it, but somehow there was part of me that still wanted to believe her when she said-when she said—"

"What?" Starsky asked when Hutch didn't go on. "What?" he said again, more insistently, and Hutch sighed.

"When she said she still loved me."

Something in Starsky's gut froze hard at the words. Maybe Van had preyed on Hutch's compassion to get him to take her home, but he had still gone to her in the first place. Hoping for something from her.

 _But then what the hell was last night about?_ Starsky wanted to ask. _Why did you let me kiss you?_ The thought startled him, and he swallowed hard, trembling on the edge of realization. He pushed it away in a strange panic, and didn't respond.

"I knew you wouldn't understand," Hutch said, sounding even more tired than before. "Come on, let's get back to work."

Starsky stood with an effort, his legs shaky and cold, and followed Hutch back to the car.

ooOoo

 ** _"You're a little too late with a little too little."_**

He fucked Rosey. He fucked Gina and Lita and Teresa and Emily and Joanna. He fucked them all until his dick was limp.

Bitterness was on his tongue, tainting the beer he drank, the food he ate. When he wasn't at work, he was in a lost wasteland of time and fucking. Hutch was no better, looking like every day was an exercise in endurance.

And then came Kira.

Kira was the symbol. She was beauty he wanted to possess, but somehow, every time he was with her, he heard the echoes of what they were saying in his head, as if even when they were alone, they were still undercover.

It turned out she was—had suckered both of them. And maybe he'd been under, too, because all Starsky knew was that the jealousy that bit into him when he saw them laughing and talking was like a vicious dog that didn't know its owner.

And when it was over, and he walked away, his partner was the blond he left with, arms over shoulders, black on black.

Outside, he didn't let go when Hutch started to stop at his car. Instead, Starsky tightened his grip on the black leather and led him to the Torino, and then to his apartment.

They didn't talk. They didn't need to. Hutch wouldn't even look at him from where he was slouched in the seat, his knees bent up and his arm resting on the window. The casual sprawl made the beast in Starsky's gut growl low.

Once they were in, Starsky threw his keys on the table and started stripping, his eyes on Hutch's back, which tensed at the creaking of leather and the jangling of his belt.

 _But he knows why he's here._ Starsky left all his clothes in a pile on the floor and came up behind Hutch to reach around and tug at his collar, pulling the leather back and off his shoulders. Then he put both hands on Hutch's arms, clamping down, and his mouth found the side of Hutch's neck under the softness of his hair.

Hutch's head tilted to the side.

"Hutch," Starsky said, his mouth making a huff of a whisper against the pale skin before he let go to tug Hutch's turtleneck up and off.

Underneath, he was surprised to find Hutch was wearing a white t-shirt. Like he used to, always the good Boy Scout with his clean undershirt. Starsky tugged it off impatiently, wanting skin. Then his hands were on it, sliding under Hutch's arms to stroke the smooth chest and trap the small nipples between his fingers. He squeezed them hard, wanting Hutch to know that small pain. The pain Starsky had been carrying for days.

Not because Hutch had gone to her, but because he'd let her play him that way. Just like Vanessa. Just like all the others _._

He pinched again, and Hutch's head fell back, his hair brushing against the side of Starsky's face. Starsky released him and pushed him toward the bed.

He still hadn't seen Hutch's eyes, but everything in his posture spoke remorse. It was just that Starsky wasn't sure what it was for. For being suckered?They both had been. For fucking his girlfriend?They both knew that morning in the kitchen that Starsky was lying, had been all along—to her, to himself, but especially to Hutch. But it was Starsky's right to at least try. It was Hutch's, too, but not with her, not with yet another lying bitch.

 _Christ, I'm a hypocrite._

Starsky pushed aside the thought in favor of exploring the smooth skin, bare beneath his hands and mouth. Hutch's big hands were making their own play, running over his shoulders, his back, tugging at him until he had to abandon the stiff nipples between his fingers and lie flat, pressing their bodies together tight. He felt the wet crown of Hutch's cock digging into his belly, and he took a deep breath, hearing Hutch moan in approval.

Starsky's elbows dug into the mattress, and he curled his hands over Hutch's shoulders, using him as leverage so he could thrust hard against him, branding him.

Hutch's head was tilted back, the shelf of his jaw angled tautly, tendons rigid. Starsky ducked his head to drag his mouth along the line of bone and flesh, and his hips shifted lower, his cock popping between Hutch's thighs. Starsky closed his teeth gently on Hutch's neck, forcing himself not to bite down too hard, even though he wanted nothing more in that moment than to put his mark on him. Instead, he thrust with his hips, enjoying the friction of the velvet skin trapping his cock.

Hutch's breath caught, and he swallowed, neck moving under Starsky's lips.

Then Hutch's legs spread open.

"Go ahead," he said hoarsely.

It paused Starsky just long enough for his heart to skip two beats entirely before it came pounding back, sending hot blood to his cock and balls, making them throb. Something to put paid. Something Hutch had never given him. The thought made him breathe hard as Starsky looked down into his partner's face.

Hutch's eyes closed, as if shutting him out. But his legs bent, knees coming up, and Starsky hurried to shift his shoulders under them, his hand still on his cock. He guided the head lower until it socked right into place.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, and pushed in.

 _Tight. Jesus._ He'd barely gotten past the hard ring of muscle when he looked down into Hutch's face and saw the pain there, sketched in drawn cheeks and clenched teeth.

Maybe Starsky had wanted a sacrifice, but not that. Never that.

"Wait," he whispered and pulled away, seeing the twitch of a grimace as he withdrew. He hurried to the bathroom where he'd last seen his jar of Vaseline, all the while hating the necessity of it, the impracticality of what they were trying to do.

He located the jar and coated his dick as he walked back, half-expecting the moment to be broken and to find Hutch had changed his mind. But he was lying there waiting, his thick cock half-erect and resting against his belly, his thighs parted.

His eyes still closed.

Starsky dropped the Vaseline on the side table.He crawled between Hutch's legs and they obediently rose again to rest over his shoulders. Then Starsky reached down with a slick hand and found Hutch's asshole.

Hutch flinched as the fingers penetrated him, but he didn't make a sound.

 _Is this the way it has to be?_ Starsky's urgency hadn't eased, but there was sorrow mixed with his anger, now. He took a deep breath and forced patience, using his fingers to work the muscle open. Hutch gasped and Starsky looked up.

Hutch's eyes were open, his lips slightly parted, surprise on his face.

Starsky's balls tightened, but he kept focused on his task until he felt the muscle loosen. Then he positioned himself and thrust his cock into Hutch.

It was good. Smooth, tight warmth, opening for him, letting him in. Starsky wrapped his arms around Hutch legs and pumped in deeper, hearing the sharp gasp that followed. Strong cords of muscle flexed around his cock, driving him crazy with need. He looked down into Hutch's reddened face, the long neck straining, veins standing out in stark relief.

Hutch was completely silent, but his eyes were pleading.

Starsky's pulse jumped at the look. He started to move in and out roughly, his eyes melded to where they were joined, watching his cock disappear into the tightness, over and over. Under the roaring in his ears he could hear the slap of his body striking Hutch's again and again.

It matched the chant in his head, the _Why, why, why?_ He moaned with pleasure as he pounded into Hutch, who reached up to grasp at him, pulling him closer. Then Hutch was saying his name, and his thick cock started shooting his come. Starsky felt dizzy watching it, knowing his cock had given Hutch such pleasure.

Y _ou should never have gone to her. You're mine,_ Starsky thought, hardly aware of it as he leaned lower and started thrusting fast and short, his orgasm approaching hard like a wave of heat traveling from his thighs to his balls and out his cock. He sank deep and let it take him as he held his breath, lost in the unending moment. _Coming in you...._

Awareness returned when he felt the long legs fall away and his cock slip from its warm home with the movement. Hutch's eyes were closed again, his head turned to the side.

And just like that, Starsky's anger was back. _Why did you go to her?_ He even started to say it out loud. "Why did you—" before he stopped himself from finishing the possessive thought. He left Hutch gasping quietly on the bed and went to the bathroom where he washed his dick carefully in the sink. His thoughts spun chaotically as he stood drying off. Finally, he pulled himself together and put on his robe.

When he got out, of course, Hutch was gone again.

ooOoo

 ** _"Running from shadows..."_**

Fucking Hutch fixed nothing, it only made Starsky miss him worse. During the day they were fine, peachy, the team they'd always been. But at night Hutch wrapped his isolation around him and went his own way, leaving Starsky alone with his regrets. He had no leg to stand on, no right to demand anything further than what Hutch had given him.

So Starsky tried to make it up to him, backing Hutch's play at the beach, and for a while it seemed like they were on the road to finding each other again.

But then Starsky got shot, and _he_ was the one fucked, his body torn full of holes, aches and seams.

Hutch came to visit him every day in the hospital, moving like his guts were hanging out and he was liable to trip over them with every step. They treaded carefully around each other's wounds, the trauma fresh and bloody.

But Starsky went home and got better over time. He started to feel almost good, enjoying the daily routines of therapy and Monopoly. And Hutch. Hutch was suddenly _there_ , as he hadn't been for so long.

They didn't talk about the future. One time, lying on the couch with a beer resting on his stomach, Starsky had glanced over at his partner and caught him looking at him as if he were a miracle, a one-in-a-million lottery ticket.

"What?"

"Nothing," Hutch said, but his eyes were smiling, deep.

"Yeah, well, quiddit." Starsky drank the chilled beer, feeling it running cool through the sudden warmth in his chest. He covered his grin by sipping again.

Hutch was quiet, but even his breathing sounded happy.

Finally, after a month stuck in his apartment, Starsky was at last able to easily make it up and down his own stairs. He called Hutch and asked him to pick him up after work and take him to the Pits.

It was his first time back since before the shooting, and Huggy treated him like a prodigal brother, practically drowning him in pitchers and beer nuts and tall tales. They hung out for a while, teasing and joking with Hymie and Anita and all the regulars who wanted to pat him on the back and wish him well.

But after a while Starsky started to feel antsy and a little unreal. He'd been too long in isolation from the rest of the world with only Hutch for company. He looked over and saw an open grin on his partner's face, but despite Hutch's easy laughter, Starsky noted the dark smears that still hung under his eyes.

"Let's blow this place," Starsky said, and Hutch nodded once, drank the last of his beer, and stood up from the booth, reaching down as if to help Starsky out.

Starsky batted the hands away. "I can do for myself," he said, irritated.

"Yeah. Guess you don't need me anymore," Hutch said. It sounded like a joke, but it wasn't, Starsky realized, looking up to catch the wistful, pained expression.

And that's when Starsky knew. It was such a simple thing. Something he must've known for months now, but been unable to acknowledge. Had known for years, maybe. And the awareness made him feel both heavy and somehow light, both at once. He slid along the bench and stood to clap Hutch on the shoulder, and Hutch led the way out the door.

Hutch drove him home while Starsky wrestled with the truth he'd found between one moment and the next. All the wasted time. Did he have to get shot to understand?Or was it just the easy, unbroken hours with Hutch, both of them safe and starting to get better, that finally made it possible for him to _see_?

How long had it been since the last time?

Hutch pulled up at his apartment but didn't kill the engine. Starsky reached over and switched off the ignition, then turned to face him, one knee on the seat. Hutch gave him a questioning look.

"Not true, what you said back in the booth," Starsky said.

He watched Hutch work it out, watched as he took a short breath, sucking it between his teeth, his eyes changing until they seemed to glitter with a hard light. But Hutch didn't say anything.

 _Scaredy-cat._ Only Starsky felt suddenly tongue-tied himself. He found he had to look away.

Silence locked them in until Starsky saw Hutch shift uncomfortably and reach for the keys in the ignition.

Starsky stopped him with his hand, and left his fingers there, resting lightly on Hutch's. Hutch's hand picked up an almost imperceptible tremor.

 _I'm right. He's been there too, with me all along. What a stupid waste of time._

"Hey," Starsky said. "C'mon...come upstairs for a little."

Hutch pulled his hand away and exhaled with a harsh sound, an almost-laugh, before saying shakily, "Sounds like a come-on."

"It is."

Hutch stared at him, his mouth open slightly. Starsky met his eyes steadily. After a long moment Hutch nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his head, and he opened the car door, getting out.

Starsky hurried to do the same, then pulled ahead of Hutch's slow steps on the stairs. He tried not to let himself think about what might happen, but his dick was already half-hard in anticipation.

Hutch was with him. Willing, if a little reluctant. Starsky shed his jacket and turned on the one lamp by the couch. Hutch came in and closed the door behind him.

But when Starsky took a step toward him, Hutch's hand rose in warning, and he shifted back against the door.

"What?" Starsky asked, but Hutch didn't seem ready to answer. He just stared at Starsky, the dent sharp between his eyebrows, the stupid moustache hiding his upper lip.

Starsky wondered what it would be like to kiss Hutch with that moustache. _Scratchy, maybe. Or is it soft?_

Hutch finally spoke. "I need to know what you meant…back there." His voice was soft, almost apologetic.

 _What I meant?Oh._ Maybe Hutch wanted to hear it.

Starsky cleared his throat and said it. "I need you."

Hutch shrugged impatiently, but his eyes were wide, no longer hiding.

Starsky's heart sped its beat.

"Need me how?For what?" Hutch asked. "Need me to pick you up from physio?Get you an icepack?Need a backrub?Need me as a partner?" The rush of words flowed to a halt.

"Is that all you want?" Starsky asked, bidding for time.

"No," Hutch said. He smiled, a tiny smile, the moustache lifting. "I've been…I want you to need…more from me."

Starsky held his breath and took two steps forward.

"I do, Hutch."

This time, when Hutch raised his hand, it came out, as if reaching for him.

Starsky put his own out to meet his grip.

Hutch still looked uncertain. "But you—"

Starsky shook his head again, tired of talking. Tired of the sense that they were actors in a sad play, one of those endless, existential ones Hutch was always dragging him to see.

He squeezed Hutch's hand tighter and pulled him closer. He tilted his head and kissed Hutch once, briefly, and then pulled back. Hutch stared down at him.

Starsky licked his lips, tasting the familiar, the memories of previous, heated kisses crowding his brain. It was a taste he'd never forgotten, but kept looking for uselessly.

It had always been right here, on Hutch's lips, in Hutch's mouth, which he moved to take again, kissing him harder. The moustache was like soft bristles brushing at his upper lip. Hutch's hands were stroking through his hair, holding on, and their tongues met hotly when they both pushed for dominance. Then Starsky opened his mouth wider and let Hutch in.

Hutch's groan was muffled, quiet, but it hit Starsky right in the nuts.

Hutch pulled back. "I missed this...oh, God. I missed this so much." The words were a thread above audible.

"Me, too," Starsky whispered, and then he had to have more. More of the taste he'd been missing, and the soft heat of Hutch's lips. Hutch's tongue invaded his mouth greedily, and Starsky gave, taking it in again. Wanting it.

He was never sure, later, how they ended up on the bed, pants off and shirts on but open, hands making patterns against each other's skin. Starsky felt like he was already coming, but his cock was still hard in Hutch's hand. And Hutch...Hutch was pushing wildly, stroking against his thigh, his dick like a heated rod burning against Starsky's skin.

When Starsky finally did come, his face was pressed into Hutch's sweaty hair, and he tasted salt against his lips as he gasped out Hutch's name. Hutch gave a moan that sounded like torture, but his cock was throbbing against Starsky's thigh, coating him with his wetness.

Starsky died a little then.

When he awoke from his doze and opened his eyes, he found Hutch awake and staring down at him. Hutch had taken off his shirt and had pulled the sheet over them. The hand that had roused Starsky was still stroking his chest softly, a gentle movement that seemed heedless of the rough scars it encountered as it traveled up and around and down again.

Hutch's eyes were clear, but there was a tiny, ironic quirk to his lip.

"What?What're you thinkin'?" Starsky murmured, his voice rough.

"Just wondering," Hutch said softly.

"Wonderin' what?" Starsky dislodged the hand, turning so that he could see Hutch's face more clearly.

"Wondering how long until the next time," Hutch said with a small shrug of his shoulder, his voice matter-of-fact.

It took a second for the meaning to sink in. "How long?How...?Hutch! What the hell do you mean, 'how long'?" Starsky reached up to grasp Hutch's shoulder, but the words seemed to have no impact on that wry smile.

"Come off it, Starsky. We both know this..." Hutch gestured at the two of them, "...isn't what you're after." He rolled over Starsky's sputtering protest. "It's okay, you know?I've always known. Well, I mean ever since what you said after Helen died, and after...Terry...." Hutch's voice trailed off into silence and he shrugged again.

"B-but, Hutch!" Starsky tried to force the words from his panicked tongue, "That's not what—I told you I want _more_."

Hutch frowned, and now he pulled back, away from Starsky's hand.

"Don't pull that crap," Hutch said shortly. "You don't have to do that with me. And I'd really rather you didn't. Let's keep it simple, okay?"

"S-simple?" Starsky knelt up, his shirt dangling against his chest. "I don't want _simple._ Who asked for simple?"

Hutch pushed himself up to sit against the headboard, facing him. "You did. You made it pretty damned clear what you wanted from the very beginning." His voice was tight, controlled.

"That was a long fucking time ago," Starsky said angrily. "And, anyway, that was before _you_ made it clear you were still in love with Vanessa. How the hell could I compete with that, huh?"

Hutch's eyes widened. "I never said I was still in love with her."

"You did so!" Starsky said hotly. "You said...." He thought back, trying to recapture the words.

They came to him just as Hutch said softly, "I said she said _she_ was still in love with _me_."

"But didn't you mean...." No. Maybe he hadn't.

Hutch looked away, a strange expression crossing his face. "I knew you didn't understand, but I didn't know how to tell you."

Starsky's anger deflated at the vulnerable tone. "Tell me what?"

Hutch pressed his lips together, then sighed. "Tell you I wanted...that. To have that..." His eyes flickered back to Starsky, then away. "Have that...with you."

Starsky's breath caught.

"That I've been…waiting," Hutch said, low, as if confessing. "That I keep thinking you'll stop looking…elsewhere."

Starsky shook his head in disbelief. All that wasted time. He tried to speak, but couldn't trust his voice to hold true. He shook his head again, more vehemently, when Hutch started to turn away.

"I'm done looking," Starsky pushed out past the choking tightness in his throat. "I...found it. I found everything I wanted."

Hutch's eyes flew to his, and he went completely still.

"Everything...everything I always had," Starsky said. Something stung his eyes. It might've been the open hope on Hutch's face. Or maybe it was the way Hutch's throat moved, as if he were swallowing away the bitterness.

 _Only sweetness from now on, babe. I promise. Only sweetness._

"What...what about you?" It wasn't that Starsky needed to hear Hutch say it. He was already shouting it with his eyes. But Starsky thought if Hutch said it, maybe he could believe—believe in them both.

But Hutch didn't say it. Instead, he threw himself forward to grab Starsky and pull him down, one long leg wrapping around Starsky's thigh to haul them together. And then Hutch was saying it with his mouth on Starsky's, with lips that tried to suck the breath out of him.

 _Babe. Babe._ Starsky slipped his hand under Hutch so he could wrap his arms around him, hold him tight. The muscles under his forearms were hard with tension, but Hutch's hands were soft on him, stroking his back, his ass, then running back up into his hair. Treating him so careful, always still worried about him. But Starsky was feeling no pain at all now. And Hutch's lips were getting firmer, planting kisses on his cheek, his eyebrow, before returning hotly to his lips.

Hutch pushed him to his back and kissed him long and hard, then pulled away and put his hand on Starsky's cheek. Starsky opened his eyes.

Hutch was staring at him, eyes burning.

"I want what's mine," Hutch whispered. He leaned down and kissed the space between Starsky's eyebrows. "Give it to me?"

Starsky shook at the possessive tone. He nodded without thought, but it wasn't until Hutch's mouth took his again, his tongue thrusting eagerly into Starsky's mouth, that the full meaning hit him.

 _Wants that. Of course._ Both of them understood what it meant, to take what belonged to them. And now Hutch wanted what was his.

Starsky.

How long did it take, how many lifetimes, to figure out what you wanted?Why was it you could never understand, in the moment, what you _really_ wanted, as if there were frosted glass between you and your true desires?All he knew was he'd spent what felt like a lifetime thinking he really knew what he wanted, and being dead wrong.

What he wanted was this. And Hutch wanted to give it to him.

Starsky rolled to his stomach, hearing Hutch draw a breath behind him when he did so, and then Hutch was fumbling in the side drawer, and Starsky was trying to steady his breathing, which was out of control.

Hutch shifted behind him, and slick fingers touched Starsky intimately, rubbing him, tantalizing a thousand nerves that were screaming pleasure at him. Then one long finger penetrated him, sinking in, tormenting him from inside.

Starsky lost the fight over his breathing, and started groaning low when the clever finger found his sweet spot and rubbed against it. He pushed up on his hands and twisted his head and Hutch met him with his lips, kissing him deep while his finger toyed with him.

"God. Oh, God," Starsky muttered, and dropped his head again, arching his back so that his ass moved back against the playful hand.

"You like that, don't you?" Hutch asked, stating the obvious.

"Shut up. Shut up," Starsky gasped.

But Hutch just laughed and put another finger inside him, sliding the pair easily in and out, in and out.

 _Gonna kill me dead and he hasn't even fucked me yet._ "You're making me crazy," Starsky moaned.

"Good," Hutch said, and his voice was shaking. Starsky smiled against his fist and clenched his ass around the fingers that were thrusting into him.

"Christ," Hutch whispered.

"Come and get it then," Starsky said, his voice muffled, his balls throbbing with need.

Hutch eased his fingers out, and Starsky heard him preparing himself. He took the opportunity to turn onto his back.

"You want it this way?" Hutch asked, sounding surprised. He was kneeling, one hand stroking the lubricant onto the heavy shaft. Starsky stared at it, suddenly more than a little freaked by what he'd taken on.

 _He took it. He took it from me without saying a word. And anything he can do, I can do, dammit._

Starsky nodded and lifted his legs, inviting Hutch to come closer. Hutch shifted forward and caught Starsky under his knees, lifting his legs over his shoulders.

Starsky felt suddenly self-conscious about the position and had an urge to crack wise, but one look into the heat of Hutch's eyes clammed him up.

 _He wants this so bad. He wants me_. Starsky's heart gave a wild thump. _He really wants me._

"Come on," Starsky murmured. Hutch's eyes flickered closed, and Starsky saw him squeeze his shaft hard before he leaned over and braced his hand beside Starsky's shoulder. Then Starsky felt the thick warmth of Hutch's cock being guided to his asshole. He shivered as it nudged him there, like a knock at the door.

"Yours," Starsky said, and then gasped as Hutch's hips lunged forward and he pressed himself in, thrusting strongly past the tight muscle, pushing deep before it had a chance to react. Then Starsky's ass constricted hard.

"God," Hutch groaned.

Starsky grunted in agreement, focusing on relaxing. _Jesus-God-it's-huge._ He took a deep breath, and then another, his eyes squeezed shut.

After a moment he realized Hutch had frozen still, planted deep but unmoving, bent low over him. Starsky opened his eyes and looked up into Hutch's face.

Starsky couldn't tell if the grimace was pleasure or pain, but he knew he'd never seen a look like it on Hutch's face before. He looked like one of those crazy Catholic saints being tortured and loving it. _Loving being in me._

Suddenly Starsky felt himself relaxing, and he heard Hutch groan.

"Take it, baby blue," Starsky whispered, and Hutch looked down into his eyes and started to move.

At first, Starsky was distracted by the newness of what he was feeling, the tingling in his ass that felt so good but so strange. And then Hutch shifted up onto his hands and arched his back, thrusting in deeper and pulling out slow, and suddenly bolts of pleasure started throbbing behind Starsky's nuts, racking through his balls, lifting his cock hard. The steady rhythm was maddening, incredible. He was being royally fucked.

As the even thrusting continued, he looked up and saw Hutch smile, and only then did Starsky realize he was chanting Hutch's name on every stroke. His hands came up to press against Hutch's chest, to feel the movement of straining muscle. He clutched at Hutch's pecs, thumbs pressed to the rock-hard nipples, and Hutch gasped.

"Too soon," Hutch moaned, and Starsky realized his partner was close to losing it already. He reached down and stroked his own cock rapidly, trying to catch up, Hutch's belly brushing against his knuckles as he pumped in and out, faster and faster. Then Hutch threw his head back, his face flaming red, sweat beading his brow.

"St-starsk!" With the stuttered groan, Hutch thrust deep and froze. Starsky watched his eyes roll back as he came, his face twisting with it.

Starsky's heart came in that same moment, and a few strokes later his own orgasm took him. He heard Hutch make a sound as his ass convulsed around the softening shaft. But Starsky was helpless to stop it, his cock pumping his come over his belly, splattering them both. Hutch's hand came out to join his around his spurting cock, the big thumb rubbing against the head, and Starsky moaned again before falling back.

Hutch slumped down over him, and Starsky dropped his legs and wrapped his arms around the big, sweaty body. And heavy, damn Hutch was heavy, and Starsky's thighs were screaming and his ass had more than one complaint, but he was too blissed out to care. After a while, he managed to maneuver to reach Hutch's lips, and he took a brief kiss.

Hutch's eyes opened to stare into his. "Starsk," he said softly, disbelief and tenderness tangled in his voice.

Starsky's heart gave another little flip. _Gonna have to watch that. I think the Blintz could make it stop again without even trying._

Hutch's weight was starting to make it hard to breathe, and he must have noticed Starsky's discomfort, because he shifted to the side. Starsky gave a little gasp as they separated.

"Sorry," Hutch muttered, but Starsky just closed his arms tighter around him.

"I ain't," he said, and his face burned a little, so he tucked it against Hutch's shoulder.

Hutch gave a husky laugh.

"I didn't know you wanted this, Hutch," Starsky said, keeping his face hidden so the words could come out. "I'm the one who's so damned sorry it took me so long...."

Hutch sighed, and then pulled away, one hand palming the side of Starsky's face to tilt it upward.

"Well, now you know." Hutch said, the blue of his eyes like neon.

Starsky swallowed.

"I do want you," Hutch went on roughly. "I want you alive, happy, safe, by my side. I want to give you...I want...."

"What?" Starsky whispered. His heart was like a bone in his throat.

Hutch looked away, his lips a firm line. "...Always."

"You got it," Starsky said without hesitation.

Hutch's head turned back.

"Always. It's yours."

Hutch kissed him for that. Long and sweet.

"You know what I want, Hutch?" Starsky said when Hutch finally let him have his lips back.

Hutch shook his head. Starsky put a hand on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently on Hutch's collarbone.

"I want you to have what you want."

Hutch grinned, teeth gleaming. And then, with a wicked quirk, said, "Then I have another request."

Starsky looked at him warily.

Hutch leaned down and whispered in his ear, and Starsky felt his face redden.

"You're on, Blondie," he said, his voice gone strange. "Just...g-give me a few."

"Whatever you want," Hutch promised sweetly.

Starsky couldn't resist laying another kiss on those lips."I gotta hit the can," he said apologetically, grimacing a little as he rolled off the bed. He took two steps toward the bathroom, then hesitated.

"You'll still be here when I get back, right?"

Hutch smiled, blue eyes bright.

"Always," he said.

 _Finis._

March 15, 2006  
San Francisco, CA 


End file.
